some things that are easy
by catiepie182002
Summary: Starving yourself kind of has an effect. Even for a god. Based on the first trailer for Thor: TDW. Loki/Thor


_because it's obvious from the new trailer that Loki's totally been on a hunger strike or something, and that's got to affect him._

"I'm so tired," he says to Thor, letting the faintest hint of a whine find its way into his voice, and Loki is almost surprised to find that what he says is true. It hasn't been a particularly long journey - certainly he and Thor made longer quests in the days of their youth - but there is a heaviness to Loki's limbs that he cannot deny. His legs burn and quiver with every step; his weakness shames him, all the worse for the knowledge that he has brought it upon himself. He had meant the words to taunt Thor, to awaken his guilt for pulling Loki from his cell whilst clearly undernourished and exhausted; he had not meant to put voice to the burning behind his eyes, the way his hands can scarcely hold their shared wineskin steady enough to pour a thin stream between his dry lips.

He can feel Thor looking at him, sizing him up and finding him lacking. _Second son. Weaker son. Not a son._ The thought makes Loki's lip curl - perhaps if the weakness were a lie, it would not sting so badly, but as it is, the way Loki's world has begun to slope dangerously to one side speaks to the truth of it, and his stomach rebels though there is nothing in it save for this morning's wine. (He'd refused the honeyed bread Thor offered him, just as he'd refused his every meal since the day of his captivity. With the way acid is crawling up the back of throat, Loki can't bring himself to regret it.) Loki swallows hard and wills Thor to look away as he gags a little, the vertigo just this side of terrifying.

(_It is only hunger_, he tells himself, _hunger and lack of sleep_. He had almost taken Midgard in a worse state than this; this is nothing.)

Distrust and pity war on Thor's face, and there is a fresh surge of bile in Loki's throat; his mouth tastes of wine and vomit. "Should we stop? Do you require rest?" his not-brother asks, and there is genuine concern there. Typical. Loki would slap him had he the strength. Slap him and then sleep. (Except Loki does not remember what sleep uninterrupted by nightmares is. Cannot recall a time when darkness did not remind him of the void, and the void did not remind him of… _Them_.)

Thor's Midgardian pet is with them, one hand wrapped tightly around Thor's arm - Jane, Thor calls her, and Loki hates her more than he hates Thor. The thought makes him laugh, unhinged; he had not thought it possible. The open pity on her face is perhaps worse than Thor's; she doesn't know who she is dealing is, doesn't know what he is capable of. _Loki needs no one and he _is _no one, foolish woman. _He means to tell her that, but all that comes out is a growl, deep and bubbling in his throat. Fitting, he thinks, that even his words should fail him.

Time passes, Loki couldn't say how much, and it is with a faint sense of disbelief that Loki finds he is no longer moving, that he has sunk to his knees; he does not remember stopping or kneeling or falling or whatever it was that brought him to this place in the dirt. He knows only that his legs still burn and quake even though they do nothing to support him, that the sun is so very hot against his back, that his vision is clouded and blurred at the edges. Distantly, he recognizes that there is bile spattered on the rocks in front of him, that it is his - he is still coughing on some of it - that laying his head in his own sick should disgust him, even though it does not.

It is only Thor's hands on his shoulders, shaking him roughly, desperately, that stop him from doing so - Loki would shake him off, but his head is lolling to the side of its own accord, coming to rest against Thor's chest, and all he can do is pant there and struggle not to be sick again. (Thor deserves to wear Loki's vomit, but Loki would spare himself the shame.)

"Loki, brother!" (_Brother, is it?_ And even now Loki has to smile, for Thor has not lost an ounce of affection for him. If this were the trick he'd wanted it to be, he would count it an unabashed success.) Thor's free hand, the one not supporting him, is on the side of his face now, and it feels so blessedly cool that Loki makes no attempt not to nuzzle into it, his stomach finally settling some now that he is still. "You are ill! Where is your sense? You should have taken the opportunity to rest when I asked."

When Thor calls for water, Loki opens his mouth greedily and waits for the kiss of moisture against his lips - and though it is Jane who brings the skin, it is Thor himself who dribbles the water onto Loki's tongue, slow enough that Loki doesn't become sick on it; even as cold as it is, his stomach cramps not even a little. And while Loki closes his eyes against the gentle swaying of the world, he hears Thor chide "Where is your regard for your well-being?" as he wipes water from Loki's chin with the edge of his own sleeve. Loki does not answer - it is all he can do to swallow.

But even as Thor's voice is scolding, even as there is still a hint of distrust in his eyes, his hand has begun smoothing over Loki's wrecked hair, palm big enough to cradle Loki's head. _Don't touch me_, Loki thinks - he would have to say it if he felt stronger, but for now consciousness is enough of a battle that he allows himself the weakness. (And if Thor trusts him still, even a little, has he not accomplished something?)

"Shhhh, brother, shhhh," Thor whispers, pillowing Loki's head against his thigh, and while the words _not your brother _fight for purchase in his dizzied mind, Loki only curls his hands tighter in the rough fabric of his leftover prison garments.

_End._


End file.
